


The Pact

by ravenclawsquill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dancing, Devil's Snare - Freeform, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawsquill/pseuds/ravenclawsquill
Summary: Neville is regretting not bringing a date to the wedding … until he meets a handsome stranger by the dance floor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/gifts).



> Written for my dear friend [digthewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/digthewriter/profile), who supplied the excellent prompt of "a marriage pact".
> 
> Thank you very much to my superstar beta, [carpemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/profile).

The ballroom of Catchpole Country Manor was beautifully decorated in red and gold, and packed with an eclectic mix of familiar faces and wide-eyed Muggles. 

Neville stood at the edge of the dance floor, cradling the dregs of his mojito. The party had taken a while to hit its stride after the speeches, but now it seemed that there was no stopping it. 

It was the biggest wedding he’d attended all year, which was ridiculous given that the guest list had been strictly limited to ‘family and close friends’. Neville supposed it was unavoidable, what with both the bride and groom coming from such huge families.

Normally Neville would have been at the center of the crowd, but tonight he simply watched on in amusement, wishing he’d thought to bring a date.

“Nobody to dance with?” asked a friendly voice from beside him, raised slightly to be heard over the thumping music.

Neville turned, surprised, and found himself face to face with a red-haired stranger.

“Not tonight,” he said. “I usually dance with Ginny at weddings, but it doesn't seem fair to commandeer the bride.”

“Very gentlemanly of you. Wise, too – I’m not sure you’d stand a chance of tearing her away from Dean tonight.”

Despite the upbeat music, Ginny and Dean were slowly rotating in the centre of the dance floor, both clearly struggling to keep a straight face as poor Mrs Weasley looked on in despair. They were surrounded by other dancers, including Dean’s many sisters, the hems of their crimson bridesmaid dresses flickering like flames around their feet.

“I’m Charlie Weasley, by the way. Brother of the bride.”

Neville almost laughed. Of course he was; the unruly mop of ginger hair and heavy scattering of freckles across his cheeks had left Neville in no doubt that his new acquaintance was a Weasley.

For all the classic family traits, though, Charlie didn’t look much like any of his brothers. He was stockily built, for a start – almost a head shorter than Neville, with a broad chest and muscular arms that were apparent even through his careworn dress robes. His skin was tanned, as though he spent a lot of time outside, and his brown eyes were framed by the faint creases of laughter lines. All in all, Neville thought that he was very nice to look at indeed.

Charlie’s face took on look of concern, and Neville realised he was staring. He blinked. “Sorry. I'm Neville,” he said hastily. “Pleased to meet you.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “ _The_ Neville? Friends with Ron? Professor Neville Longbottom, slayer of snakes and all-round Herbology guru?”

Neville felt his cheeks flush at the casual flattery, and was suddenly grateful for the low lighting. “I suppose so. That sounds much better than ‘Neville Longbottom, unable to find a dance partner in a room of two hundred people’,” he added with a tentative smile.

Charlie grinned. “I’m sure we’ll find you someone to dance with. In the meantime, what are you drinking?”

Neville held up his empty glass. “Mojitos. Don’t laugh. I figured I’d make the most of the open bar.” 

Remarkably, Charlie didn’t laugh. He just reached out and took the glass from Neville’s hand. “I’ll get you another one. I’ll be back in a mo.”

Neville half expected that to be the last he saw of Charlie Weasley, but the burly redhead returned a few minutes later with a tall mojito in one hand and a small tumbler of whisky in the other. He took a long sip through Neville’s straw before handing the cocktail to him.

“Oh, that’s not bad, actually. I mean, it still looks bloody ridiculous and has more leaves in it than the average salad, but at least it’s tasty.”

Neville nodded and brought the straw up to his lips. “Mint, sugar and rum. What more could you want?”

“What, indeed.” Charlie looked Neville up and down, and for the second time that evening, Neville felt his cheeks burning.

His mind reeled as he desperately tried to think of something interesting to say. When inspiration failed to strike, he settled for an obvious question. “Why haven’t we met before? I must have been to at least three Weasley weddings in the last few years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.”

“Ah, that would be because I’m usually away with work. I’m a Dragon Conservationist, mainly based in Romania.” Charlie swirled his whisky as he spoke, keeping his tone casual, as if it was a perfectly normal job to have.

“Wow. That must be exciting.” Neville suddenly felt incredibly dull. He loved his job, but teaching Herbology wasn’t exactly living on the edge, especially compared to working with dragons.

Charlie grimaced. “It can be. It has its drawbacks, though. Like finding a wedding date, for example.”

“I always thought women were into the whole rugged, dangerous thing,” Neville mused, eyeing Charlie’s messy hair and hint of stubble – he certainly wore the rugged look well.

“They are. Unfortunately for them, I’m not particularly into women,” Charlie said with a shrug.

“Oh.” Neville hoped his voice didn’t betray the rush of interest that shot through his body at the implication behind Charlie’s words.

Thankfully, Charlie didn’t seem to notice. “There are only four of us – me, and three of the straightest, most macho men you can imagine. And we’re always miles away from civilisation. So unless I expand my preferences to include dragons, it’s not exactly ideal.”

Neville nodded in sympathy and took another gulp of his cocktail.

“Anyway, enough about me,” Charlie smiled. “What about you? How long have you been teaching Herbology?”

“A little over five years,” Neville replied. “I was working towards my Doctorate before that. It’s great, actually. The greenhouses are amazing, but the best part is helping to build the kids’ confidence. I wasn’t very academic at school – actually, that’s putting it lightly. I was useless in every subject except Herbology, so it’s nice to show the kids that you don’t need to be great at spellwork to be successful. Like your job, it has its drawbacks, though.”

“Such as?” Charlie was eyeing him with great interest.

“Well, there aren’t many eligible blokes at Hogwarts, unless you count Filch or Hagrid, so...” Neville trailed off, hoping to sound nonchalant, relieved to have dropped the hint about his own sexuality.

Charlie shuddered. “Yikes. And I thought I had slim pickings.” He paused to drain his glass, then continued. “Poor us, eh? Married to our jobs with no hope of finding love.”

“I know! It wouldn’t be so bad, but it seems like everyone’s at it. This is the eighth wedding I’ve been to this year,” Neville said, looking pointedly around the crowded room.

Everywhere he turned, people were standing in pairs: Hermione was trying to drag Ron away from the buffet table; Luna and Rolf were doing the most alarming dance he’d ever seen; and over by the bar, Draco Malfoy was fussing with Harry’s dress robes, wearing an odd expression somewhere between fondness and frustration.

Charlie followed Neville’s gaze and wrinkled his nose. “It really does. As of today, I’m the only unmarried Weasley.”

He dropped his empty glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, then grabbed Neville by the upper arm and pulled him close, sending a rush of heat across his skin. “Here’s an idea, Neville,” he said conspiratorially. “How about we make a pact? If we’re not married by a certain date, I’ll come back from Romania, you’ll abandon your plants, and we’ll marry each other.”

Neville couldn’t help but smile as he pretended to weigh it up. “Sounds reasonable. That way, I’d always have a dance partner.”

Charlie nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. And my poor mum would stop worrying that I actually do fancy dragons.”

Neville laughed. “You're on. What date shall we set then? An age limit? Say, forty?”

Charlie shifted, looking sheepish. “I erm … I’m not that far off forty, actually.”

Neville bit his bottom lip. He’d always gone for older men. “Oh?”

“Thirty-eight. You know, just in case you want to reserve a venue. I hear they book up years in advance.”

Neville nodded seriously. “In which case, we should probably get to know each other properly. Do you want to dance?”

Charlie grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Neville finished his mojito and led Charlie onto the dance floor, pushing through the sea of people to find an empty space. Ginny tipped them a wink as they passed, causing Neville’s blush to deepen.

The music was much louder in the middle of the floor. _Do the Tantellagra_ was in full swing; the air pulsed and vibrated with its distinctive heavy bassline. They began to dance, a few feet apart at first, but the crowd ebbed and flowed, nudging them into one another, bringing them temptingly close. Every touch made Neville’s skin tingle with anticipation.

He almost cried out in disappointment when the song ended and was replaced by a soft, unfamiliar romantic number. Charlie stepped back as the music slowed, and for a moment, Neville was convinced that his dancing partner was going to scarper. 

Thankfully, Charlie was made of sterner stuff. He leaned in, so close that Neville could feel the warmth of his breath. “I’m not great at slow dancing. Do you want to lead?” he asked as he placed his left hand on Neville’s shoulder. 

Neville could barely conceal his delight. “Yeah, of course.”

They began to spin slowly on the spot. As they danced, Charlie told Neville all about his work in Romania. Neville barely registered a word of it, though; he was too busy enjoying the warmth of Charlie’s hand resting on his shoulder, and the feel of firm muscle beneath Charlie’s robes where Neville gripped his waist.

They were close enough that Neville could see every freckle on Charlie’s nose, and smell his rich aftershave, a mouth-watering mix of sandalwood and musk that made Neville’s chest tighten with desire.

Three songs passed in the blink of an eye, and they were both slightly out of breath by the time Charlie leaned in again, this time letting his lips brush gently against Neville’s ear. “Fancy a bit of fresh air?”

“That sounds great.” In fact, the suggestion couldn’t have come at a better time: sweat was just beginning to prickle along Neville’s hairline.

They battled their way across the crowded ballroom and stepped out onto the cool terrace to find that it had been raining. The smooth slabs were slippery beneath their feet, and the fresh scent of damp moss on stone permeated the air, delicate and delicious.

“You’re good at dancing, you know,” Charlie said as they came to a stop outside the doors.

Neville felt a surge of pride. “Thanks. My grandmother made me learn as a kid. I was dead clumsy, so I think she was hoping it would teach me a bit of spatial awareness. It didn’t work, but at least I know my way around a dance floor.”

“You’ve certainly impressed me.” As Charlie spoke, he reached out and ran his fingertips lightly along Neville’s jawline, coaxing him closer. Their faces were inches apart, near enough for Neville to appreciate the faint golden hue of Charlie’s eyelashes.

Neville’s stomach squirmed as their lips met in a tentative kiss. It was chaste for all of five seconds, then Charlie’s hands were at Neville’s throat, tugging at his tie and fumbling with his top button in a desperate search for skin.

Charlie’s kisses were deep and insistent, coloured with the faintest hint of smoky Firewhisky. It was a thousand times more intoxicating that the mojitos; each swipe of his tongue sent a frisson of excitement coursing through Neville’s veins.

They stumbled backwards until Neville’s back was flush against the coarse stone wall of the building. Charlie looked left and right, checking that they were alone on the terrace before dropping to his knees.

“Oh,” Neville murmured.

Charlie looked up with a roguish smile as he unbuttoned Neville’s robes from the waist down. When they fell open, he teasingly palmed Neville’s erection through the thin fabric of his trousers until he began to push desperately against Charlie’s hand, craving the friction. 

Sensing that he needed more, Charlie unzipped Neville’s trousers and pulled them down just far enough that his cock sprung free, completely and utterly exposed. He waited just a few seconds, barely long enough for Neville to flinch at the cool air, before flicking his tongue over the sensitive slit.

Neville’s head was spinning, his heart pounding in his chest. It was so completely, unbelievably unlike him to do something like this; it felt almost like a dream.

It wasn’t as if he’d never experienced a blowjob before – he’d just never received one in quite such a public place. They weren’t even tucked away in an alcove; just right there against the wall, only a few feet from the open doors. Any moment, a fellow guest could come out for some fresh air and catch them at it.

Charlie set a steady pace, sucking, licking and stroking Neville’s cock, and all of Neville’s concerns faded into the background. He let himself float in a daze, delirious with pleasure and adrenaline. He could hear the thrumming bass of the music inside, and feel the crisp night air on his skin, a stark contrast to the sweet warmth of Charlie’s lips around his prick. 

Calloused fingers came to rest on Neville’s hip, gently holding him in place as Charlie sucked his cock with a practised tongue, gripping the base as he took the head into his mouth before sliding his sinfully soft lips all the way down, until his nose was buried in Neville’s pubic hair. 

It was so incredibly good, Neville could barely breathe. In no time at all he was groaning, tangling his fingers in Charlie’s red hair, fighting with all of his might against the primal urge to thrust forward.

He wasn’t going to last long. He tried to distract himself, to think of anything else, but this was _real_ , this was happening, and the pleasure was so intense that everything else ceased to exist. Even keeping quiet was out of the question.

“Ohhhhh god ... so good, I’m going to come … _uhhhhh_.”

Neville expected Charlie to heed the warning and pull away, but he didn’t. He took Neville’s prick deep into his throat and ran his tongue firmly along the vein on the underside, pulling Neville firmly past the point of no return. 

Neville let go of Charlie’s hair and scrabbled for purchase against the rough stone wall as his orgasm hit in a blinding rush. He thrust involuntarily into Charlie’s mouth, choking out a broken “ _Sorry_ ” as his climax consumed him.

Charlie didn’t even flinch. He swallowed every last drop of Neville’s release and licked him clean before climbing to his feet with a muted groan. “God, that’s going to hurt tomorrow. Why didn’t I think to cast a cushioning charm?”

“Too distracted?” Neville suggested as he tucked himself back into his trousers. He leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily.

Charlie winked. “Just a bit. Where are you staying tonight?”

“I’ve booked a room at _The Swan_ , down in the village.” Neville paused. “There’s, erm, plenty of room for two, though, if you don’t mind sharing the en-suite with nine samples of Devil’s Snare.”

Charlie held out his arm. “As it happens, Devil’s Snare is my very favourite murderous plant. Shall we? We don't have much time, after all. Every second I get closer to forty.”

They strolled through the grounds together, away from the thudding music of the wedding. Back in the crowded ballroom, the guests danced on, oblivious.


End file.
